


The Road to Hell

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugged Sex, Kink Meme, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After staging his coup d'etat, Abbas chooses not have Malik thrown into the dungeons, but a gilded cage is still a cage and Malik wants nothing to do with whatever game Abbas is playing unless it involves the traitor's head on a platter.</p><p>That is sadly not the case and, in fact, what Abbas was hoping for was something far more...intimate. And he will use force if it becomes necessary, because that which is not given freely can still be taken.</p><p>And because a terrible truth of the world is that most of the worst things were originally born of better things.</p><p>A sick obsession can be born of love. Someone could end up suffocating that which he sought to protect and hold close. And everyone knows what the road to hell is paved by.</p><p>But Malik is an assassin first before he is anything else, and, one way or another, he will find a way out of this or he will die trying.</p><p>A kink meme fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gilded Cage

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt asked for Abbas imprisoning Malik and Tazim to live out a twisted fantasy where the Al-Sayfs are his "wife" and son. The prompt also asked for non!con. Original prompt and unbeta'd but completed fill can be found [here](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?thread=10083843).
> 
> I will probably upload the second part tomorrow...or whenever I fix the one glaring mistake that's bugging me.
> 
> Also this chapter doesn't contain any smut. That comes later.

It had all been so innocent in the beginning.

Even early on in their training, it had been easy to admire Malik for his skill with the blade and for his easy confidence. It was made easier still by the way he smiled at his brother with a softness that was rare in their way of life.

Abbas hadn't known how to speak to him, and it was made all the harder because, for all the gentleness he showed his brother and those younger than him, there is just as much steel in him and it was daunting for Abbas who was a whole year younger.

And when you were seven that was a world of distance.

Altair, either because he was older as well or just because he was _Altair_ , never seemed to have that same problem even if he and Malik ended up arguing more often than not.

"He's nothing special." Altair would tell him with a grumble when Abbas brought it up.

(What Abbas never realized was that Altair was in a similar boat himself, except instead of becoming tongue-tied, he did what he did best and that was to _attack_. It was the only way he knew how to get the other boy's attention.)

When they were friends, Abbas had admired him for this. When their friendship turned to hate, admiration turned into bitter jealousy.

The only saving grace was that as Altair's arrogance grew, Malik's regard for the youngest Master Assassin in their order shrank and every frown, every look of discontent directed at Altair seemed to Abbas a small victory. Of course, Malik of all people would not admire the fool Altair as everyone else seems to.

He, at least, had some _sense._

Solomon's Temple should have further driven the two apart because no matter what Altair did now, this would be the one wrong that he could never right, the one bridge he could never repair. Because, in addition to Malik's arm, he had cost him Kadar and for that alone he should never have been able to earn Malik's regard or forgiveness.

Except Malik had forgiven Altair. It was clear in the way he looked at Altair without hatred when they returned. It was written in the ease with which he walked alongside the man who had taken everything for him.

Altair had stolen as much from Malik as he had from Abbas, and yet he was just standing there, letting Altair press him back against the wall and kiss him.

No, not letting Altair kiss him. That implied that Malik's arm wasn't hooked behind Altair's shoulders, that he wasn't tilting his head to deepen the kiss. It implied that Malik didn't press one leg between Altair's and chuckle when his (never theirs. Never _Abbas'_ ) Grandmaster groaned into his shoulder.

Abbas' grip tightened on the window sill for a moment before he turned and fled, feeling betrayed by the sight in the gardens below.

If he had to pick a moment when things had started going wrong, he might have picked this one, when he had seen Malik smiling at Altair with such warmth and fondness and such _love_ that he knew Altair was undeserving of.

~ + ~

It had taken the better part of the day to finally get everything settled, and Abbas knew it would be longer yet before he removed the last of Altair's influence from the Order, but it would all be done in due time.

Right now, it was already night and it was past time he turned in.

It was not the Mentor's tower that he retired to. Others may think it was out of respect for the fact that he was not, in fact, Mentor right now, only the defacto head of the council running the order.

Only a select few knew better.

There are two guards stationed on either side of the door he stopped in front of.

He nodded at his men before opening the door and stepping inside...

...only to stagger back into the hall, a hand held to his head from where something had cut him.

One of the guards was at his side while the other unsheathed his sword, but smartly did not try to enter the room.

After all, one arm or not, Malik had managed to kill a good number of Abbas' best men before they had brought him down.

And no one here wa very interested in seeing what chance they stood.

Abbas wiped the blood from his forehead. It shouldn't be anything worth worrying about what he is worrying about is how Malik managed to find a weapon when he was sure he'd given the epxress order that he be thoroughly searched and stripped of anything that could be used a weapon...

As if sensing his thoughts, the Guard beside him handed him a...was that a nail?

Abbas took the offered item and it was, indeed, a nail. Possible left behind and forgotten somewhere in the room for years. It had been further sharpened to a fine point and Abbas was certain that, had he not dodge at the last minute the thing would have found its home in his eye.

Malik always had been a resourceful one.

He looked up finally, and met Malik's furious gaze.

"Murderer." He hissed and he made as if to lunge, but stopped short when his arm could not follow the attempted movement. There was a shackle there, connected to a chain that would allow him free movement around the room while remaining connected to a piece of metal bolted to the floor in the middle of the room. He snarled and pulled again causing the chain to clink and be pulled taut. The chain was precisely measure so he could not reach the door.

Abbas frowned when the shackle shifted and he could see the wrist underneath had been rubbed raw. This wouldn't do at all.

He stood up straight and walked over, stopping just short of the door.

"Malik, peace--"

He was interupted by a bark of laughter, cruel and unyielding. When Malik spoke his voice was dripping with acid. He had had a day to consider his situation and anger had long since won out over grief.

"Peace, you say? Peace after you've chained me like some animal? After you killed the Mentor's son in cold-blood?" He spat in Abbas' face.

When the guard stiffened and moved to attack, Abbas raised his hand, a silent command to stop.

"His death was necessary."

All at once, Malik froze. He sucked in a breath and Abbas braced himself for more yelling, but when Malik spoke again, he was calm as still water, "Necessary." He parrotted and the hand that had been balled into a fist loosened.

Abbas hesitated, but when Malik retreated a step, then two, he followed. "Yes." He said, hoping that with Altair so long absent from Masyaf that maybe Malik's eyes had finally been opened, that he finally _understood._ "Yes. There was no other way, Malik. I would have spared you being labelled a traitor if I could, but this was the only way. Altair--"

But he never got to finish, because Malik had only retreated so that he could properly lash out and close his hand around Abbas' throat.

"Do not," He hissed, "speak his name."

Abbas scrambled to free himself. But to no avail, because Malik had the strength of two arms in his one and he tightened his grip without seeming to pay any heed to the guards coming towards him, his anger now no longer burning but _cold_.

And Altair could have told you, that Malik was never more dangerous than when he was this way.

Malik shoved Abbas towards the first guard that came towards them and he lunged for the second one--

\--but he had not stepped back far enough and the chain jerked and it was all then opening Abbas' guard needed to land a blow to the side of his head.

He stumbled back and when he looked up again, there was a sword pointed at his throat.

Abbas rubbed a hand over his throat. Malik was still glaring and Abbas was sure he'd never seen a more terrifying or alluring sight.

"Mark my words, Abbas: your head will be mine one day."

It sounded like a promise.

~ + ~

The room was thoroughly searched after that, to make sure there was not a repeat of last time.

All the furniture was carefully moved so the ground behind and underneath could be searched before putting it all back. It was not a long process seeing as the room was sparsely, but comfortably, furnished.

It was certainly nothing like what Malik expected to wake up to. If he hadn't woken up to a shackle on his arm he might have thought the whole ordeal had been a nightmare when he found himself in a comfortable bed.

(But it had been only all too real and he can only hope that Sef's family and his own were safe.)

Still, make-shift weapons or not, the search did nothing to deter Malik from attempting to kill Abbas.

The chain was a problem and got in the way more often than not, but Malik's life had been a study in working around handicaps and turning them to his advantage.

The time he came closest to killing Abbas while held captive was proof of this as it had ended with Malik looping the chain under his chin and, grabbing onto the other end, _yanked_ until Abbas's head craned back.

Malik gritted his teeth and held the man down with a knee on his back.

But his flailing limbs had knocked into a nearby table, causing the contents on its surface to fall to the ground with a crash and Malik cursed quietly and hoped, prayed, that the guards wouldn't have heard, or that they'd be too late...

...but it was not to be, and in a few moments he found himself being pulled back, his arm twisted behind his back. It didn't stop him from struggling even as it put pressure on his arm.

Abbas coughed from his place on the ground and the sound of him still _breathing_ only fueled Malik's anger.

The guard behind him twisted his arm further in warning and it was only because it was in real danger of being popped out of its socket that he stilled.

If he were to kill Abbas he would need that arm.

Most days, thoughts like that were the only things that kept him going.

Abbas turned around after a moment, and the look in his eyes were so betrayed that Malik couldn't help the snarl that came out of his mouth.

It was then that Abbas' expression was overcome with anger and Malik wondered idly if the traitor was finally going to kill him.

(He did not want to die. It was not that. But in his weaker moments death seemed better than having to explain to Altair how he had _failed_ , both to save the Order or to save his son.)

But Abbas did not attack him when he was close enough. Though perhaps "attack" wasn't the wrong word for the way he brought a hand to the back of Malik's neck and jerked him close to press a brusing kiss to his mouth.

Malik did not surprise easily, but this...this he hadn't expected. He froze for half a second as Abbas' hand tightened in his hair and Malik's hand flexed and tightened into a fist at his back before his lips parted--

\-- and Abbas yelped in pain and pulled back when Malik bit down on his bottom lip in a way that could not be mistaken as playful or arousing: he had bitten hard enough to draw blood.

And there was that anger again, but Malik realizes it is different than his own. It was anger of a man who felt he had been denied what he felt was rightfully his.

~ + ~

It would be another few days before Abbas returned again and during that time, Malik continued to exercise as much as he could within this room and with his only good arm shackled. There would be nothing worse, than for a chance to kill Abbas to arrive only for him to be unable to take advantage of it because he had been slacking.

(And it was something to do, something to keep his mind and body occuppied so he doesn't drown in his grief.)

When he took a break he'd look out the window, trying to determine where in Masyaf he was exactly, and to see if he could catch sight of anyone he could trust to attempt to give a message to...the how he had not figured out, but it didn't matter because no one ever passed by the tower he was being kept in.

He did not turn when the door opened. He was aware and alert but he would not turn to acknowledge the man who had come in (because no one besides Abbas ever came in, even the guards outside only ever came in when Malik caused a commotion which was perhaps more often than they liked).

"Malik," Abbas said and on the heel of his name was the sound of the door swinging shut, "I brought someone to see you today."

Whatever scathing words Malik had prepared died on his tongue as he caught sight of the baby in Abbas' arms.

For the first time since he had received news of Sef's death, he felt his chest tighten with something like denial, like fear.

It can't be him. She would never have allowed it. She would have run. They were probably far from Masyaf by now. Far from harm and far from _Abbas._

But Malik knew that it had to be Tazim Abbas held in his arms, it was the only possibility that made sense...as much as anything made sense anymore.

"Well? Do you not want to see your son?"

Malik growled and strode over, desperate to be wrong, hoping that Abbas was only messing with him, would not even _mind_ that he had fallen for such an obvious trap...

Except the child started to fuss and all of Malik's hopes were dashed. It was Tazim, there was no doubt about it and the sight of Abbas lightly bouncing the child to try to soothe him made Malik's temper flair.

He all but stormed the last few steps to the man and demanded, "Give him back."

Tazim's fussing grew worse at hearing that familiar voice, but no one could say if it was because of the anger in his voice or because he wanted his father.

Abbas, surprisingly, did not hesitate to hand the infant to Malik, even carefully arranging the child so he was secure in Malik's one arm.

Malik didn't thank him and instead, continued to glare at him as he took a step back, wanting to put distance between his child and Abbas.

Tazim stop squirming once he was in Malik's arm but he was still making distressed noises and Malik wanted to comfort him, but he dared not take his eyes off Abbas any longer than was necessary.

"Where is his mother?"

He suspected he knew.

Tazim's mother was clever, it was one of the traits that had drawn Malik to her. She was a widow and, like him, she had wanted children. They were not in love, but they enjoyed each other's company and _it is not such a tragedy to marry for companionship, Malik._ The smile she had given him had been full of good humour that day, but she was stubborn and protective...and Malik knows she would not have allowed Tazim to be taken without a fight.

"Dead." Abbas answered as if there was nothing wrong with that picture, as if killing a woman for trying to keep her child safe wasn't breaking the first tenant of their Creed. "She was trying to take him away from you..."

When Abbas took a step forward, Malik took one back and Tazim began to cry in earnest.

"No." He hissed and that was someone else he had failed in his life time. He will not fail his son as well, "She was trying to keep him away from _you._ "

"Malik--"

"Get out." And if her weren't holding Tazim he would have thrown something, anything, but he kept a firm hold on the infant. _"Leave!"_

Abbas took a step back at the yell and stared. There were no words exchanged between them and, for a moment, the only sound in the room were Tazim's cries.

Then, slowly, Abbas backed up towards the door (he had learnt better than to turn his back on Malik by now).

"A wet-nurse will come in later." He said as if that would change anything.

Malik only glared, not wanting to upset Tazim further. He kept glaring up until the moment the door was shut and the lock on the otherside fell into place.

Only then did Malik sag, slowly dropping to the ground after nudging the heavy chain out of the way with his foot. He rocked Tazim gently and shushed him.

"It's all right, you're safe." He pressed a kiss to the top of Tazim's head, "I'm here."

~ + ~

It had been a relief to hear from the wet-nurse that Sef's family, at least, had escaped. She had whispered it while Tazim fed, quietly enough so that the guards outside wouldn't hear.

He could not confirm that she was telling him the truth without being able to step a foot outside this room, but he was certain she was.

She had, after all, been there to help take care of Sef when he was a child, and her grief when she talked about Sef was real.

That knowledge, that he wasn't entirely alone even if his only ally was a wet-nurse, that someone he cared about had made it out of this whole mess alive, was a balm to his soul even if it could not stop the pain. And Tazim's presence in this place gave him new purpose.

When a crib had been brought in for Tazim and Malik had pushed it into the far corner and, whenever Abbas came now, he'd position himself in front of it, planting himself firmly between his son and Abbas.

"Leave."

"I only wish to see him..."

Malik narrowed his eyes. "Leave. Do not make me repeat myself a third time."

Abbas' hands clenched at his side, "I demand to see him!"

And Malik only scoffed at him, "And what right do you have to demand that?"

"I have every right!" Abbas shouted back, raising his voice for the first time in this room and Malik's hackle rises, because _how dare he._

But before the words could make it past his lips, Abbas continued.

"I have every right because you are mine! Both of you are!"

Malik's mouth snaps shut with an audible click at that and suddenly, everything falls into place. Why he was held here instead of rotting in a dungeon somewhere. Why Tazim was here instead of being raised away from him.

It explained the way Abbas had acted and the kiss from before.

Still, Malik only glared and spat, "We do not belong to anyone, least of all _you._ " It would probably have been better to be silent, to not antagonize this man who was clearly _insane_ , but Malik would not back down, not from this.

And there was that anger again, the same kind he'd worn when Malik had rejected his advanaces last time.

"And yet you let Altair have you. Altair, who had taken everything from you!"

"I did not belong to Altair either." Because Malik was not a _thing_ to be owned by anyone. (He cannot deny, howeverm that he had indeed given his heart to, not only Altair, but to his family as well.) "People belong to themselves, Abbas, or have you forgotten what it is we fight for?"

"I have not forgotten!" It was Abbas who was shouting now, angry and impassioned, "Altair had led us from our path, he has polluted the teachings handed down to us from generations of Masters! I am only fixing what he has broken."

He met Malik's eyes without flinching, "One day, Malik, you will see that what I say is true."


	2. Power Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ATTEMPTED RAPE/NON-CON AND ITS AFTERMATH. Just. Uh. Getting that out there first.

Abbas did not normally come during his meals. The proximity of cutlery and pottery that could easily be smashed and turned into makeshift weapons probably had something to do with it.

The wet-nurse was here again, cooing at Tazim after a feeding. The child laughed and, oh, it was a lovely sound and she couldn't help but smile at him. Masyaf was changing under Abbas and not for the better so it was nice, she thinks, to be able to be around children like this.

It made her heart lighter.

There was a clatter from the other side of the small table and she looked up, in question only for it to turn to concern when she got a good look at Malik's face.

His eyes were glassy and unfocused and his hand twitched, held slack in the air as if he hadn't realized he'd dropped the spoon.

"...Dai Malik?"

He didn't respond at first as if he hadn't heard her, then he looked up...but he didn't seem to be looking at her but through her.

Before either of them could say anything though, the door to the room opened.

"You may leave." Abbas called from behind her and she felt a clench of fear as his footsteps came closer, "Take Tazim with you, one of the guards will escort you back to your rooms."

She didn't turn, just watched Malik who seemed to have managed to catch hold some semblance of clarity.

"Abbas, you--" But when he stood his knees buckled and he crashed to the ground again, his hand dragging the dish left on top to the ground.

"Dai!"

But there was a hand on her shoulder jerking her back.

"You are dismissed for the evening." And the hand on her shoulder tightened to the point of pain and she trembled. She did not want to leave, but there was nothing she could _do_ but nod and obey. If it were just her it would be different, but there was a child in her arms and she couldn't risk him. Even so, as she shuffled out of the room she hated herself more with every step she took.

The door shut behind her and Abbas knelt beside where Malik had fallen. Malik glared at him. Not heeding the look of warning, Abbas reached out and tenderly brushed the back of his hand over Malik's cheek.

"Come, I will help you to bed."

Malik protested, though he can't remember what it was he said (or what it was he was protesting) and the next time he was aware of his surroundings again he was already lying on the pile of pillows near the wall.

The world was hazy and it was difficult to get his thoughts to cooperate and line up into something resembling coherence. He was dimly aware of a weight on top of him, but it didn't seem particularly important. It was warm, at any rate, warm and solid and not altogether unpleasant.

There were hands on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles before pushing their way under his robes. His whole body felt sluggish and weighed down and for a moment he wasn't entirely sure it was really his.

Except it had to be because when he felt lips at his neck, he was tipping his head back as he had done many times before.

(But for whom? Who was the person who had kissed him over and over again as if he just couldn't get enough? Who was it who would chuckle into the crook of his neck when he quipped at him in between kisses?)

He shivered in the cold when his tunic was pushed off his shoulders, but then there was a mouth on his and it was _searing_. He shivered again, this time from something other than the cold as calloused hands, trailed over every inch of bare skin and it was familiar in a way though he couldn't quite say how.

(It's also _wrong_ somehow, but the how and why of it was distant, out of reach though he was sure he knew...)

He keened when the mouth left his. A hand came up to cup the back of his neck, thumb brushing gently over his ear. He leaned into the touch as someone took his hand, brought it away from the pillows to press kisses to his palm and nip at his fingertips.

(He remembers lips pressing to the inside of his wrist, both a gesture of affection and an apology. He remembers twisting his wrist to grab and pull, all the better to press their lips together, a gesture that spoke of love and forgiveness.)

There was something cold on his wrist and Malik cracked open his eyes to stare at the shackle and chain there as if he didn't recognize it.

Then the hand behind his neck drew him up into a kiss that was too much and not enough all at once and the thought was driven away. He groaned into the mouth pressed to his when the kiss came with a hint of teeth and tongue.

If he could have, he would have arched up because even though there was little distance between them, it was still too damn _far_. But his body was too heavy and not at all responsive to his demands so he settled for clenching his hand where it had been guided to rest on the jut of someone's hip.

It was just as well, though, because as it is, it was like he wasn't couldn't enough air and it made it hard to _think_ past the hands framing his face.

(And the phantom touch tracing every inch of his skin, over his spine, down the inside of his thighs, and raking through his hair, touching and carressing everywhere even the places that were still covered.

And there was a voice in his ear, indistinct and familiar, calling his name and it made his heart _ache._ )

Contact was broken for a moment before feather light kisses were pressed to his closed eyelids before the person above him pulled away.

Malik's eyes fluttered open with a sigh and he managed to focus his gaze on the face above his, flushed and breathless.

(His eyes are gold.)

His eyes are brown.

Panic slammed into him then, and he sucked in a breath suddenly.

The person above him leaned down to kiss his shoulder as hands slipped down and dragged over his chest and  
he shifted his own hand, to push instead of pull because this was wrong, all of it was wrong.

(His eyes are gold. Why aren't they gold?)

He made a strangled noise, and kept pushing but he couldn't work up the strength to dislodge the person above. Then the hands are on his shoulder, pinning him firmly though not particularly roughly. Perhaps it was out of kindness...or perhaps out of knowledge that he didn't need to use much force at all to achieve what he wanted.

There was a voice speaking into his ear in between nips to the shell of his ear and he couldn't catch the word: all he knew that the voice was wrong as well. The panic was all consuming, and it was instinct and adrenaline that had him shifting suddenly, bending his leg and settling it across the man's chest while the other hooked at his knee...then the the world spun and he was on top, except his balance was off and instead of stopping he fell to the side and he let out a weak cry when his palm fell on the pottery shards--

\--the pain made the world come back into sharp focus suddenly and Malik closed his hand over a jagged piece of pottery and squeezed, lest the haze that was ever present in his head came back.

There was a hand on his shoulder and Malik twisted with a snarl and swiped at his assailant with a fist, with the sharp point of the ceramic shard digging painfully into his palm.

Abbas' head snapped back from the blow.

Malik took the moment to scramble back and up, stumbling back a step and only managed to remain upright with his back against the wall.

"What," He rasped with murder in his eyes and blood dripping from his hand, "did you do to me?"

(And he could swear he could still feel ghostly fingers running tracing nonsense patterns on his skin and the fact that he couldn't remember if Altair had done that or Abbas made his blood boil and made him want to puke in equal measures.)

His hand tightened on the pottery shard.

Abbas swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

"You are over-reacting, Malik."

"What. Did. You. _Do?_ "

His hands trembled and even the pain in his hand was starting to feel a little unreal and distant. The realization that he could not fight this, that it was only a matter of time before he dropped back into that dream-like daze with only _Abbas_ to catch him made anger and panic swell within him. The feelings were all-consuming and even as he tried to cling to his reason, it was a losing battle.

There was disgust there too, a lot of it self-directed. Was it any wonder he had ended up like this if he couldn't even fend off one man?

It was a dangerous combination and whatever he'd been drugged with certainly didn't help stop him bringing the shard in his hand up to his own throat, resting against the jugular when Abbas took a step toward him.

In his current state of mind, it seemed as good an idea as anything especially in the face of such odds, because giving in seemed too much like giving up and Malik refused to yield to this man who had taken too much from him already.

"Stay away." His hands may be trembling, but his voice was full of steel and looking into his eyes there was no doubt that he would slit his own throat if it came to it. Abbas was talking, but the words were meaningless except when he mentioned Tazim's name.

(Tazim...where was Tazim? _Where was his son?_ )

"Get out." He hissed and pressed harder, managing to draw blood. Malik blinked and he world swam out of focus for a moment. Malik squeezed the shard in his hand to fight it and when the world cleared again, Abbas was gone and the room was blessedly empty.

His hand was red with blood when he finally released the pottery shard. Malik half stumbled back towards the pile of pillows and dropped on them with a shudder, the sound of his footsteps and the clink of metal seemed almost impossibly loud to his ears.

The world slowly faded back out of focus and Malik couldn't find it in himself to care.

His fingers twitch and curl.

(There is a hand there, fingers laced with his and he hated himself more for wishing they were real and the person they belonged to were here.)

~ + ~

Malik woke up the next day feeling a deep exhaustion he couldn't quite explain. It reminded him of the early days after Kadar's death, when his nights were always plagued with nightmares.

He blinked at the ceiling before shifting to try to sit up.

There is someone by his side immediately and he flinched, though he didn't understand _why_.

It was Tazim's wet-nurse and Malik relaxed, though he frowned as he leaned back against the wall. It was already time for Tazim to be fed? It was odd; he did not ordinarily sleep in.

"I apologize for sleeping in."

Curiouser still was the worried crease in her brow at his response. He was about to ask what was on her mind when she beat him to speaking.

"Dai," She hesitated and Malik couldn't help feeling trepidation, "What is the last thing you remember?"

Malik frowned and watched her even while he thought of his answer, trying to find any clues as to why she was asking.

"You came to feed Tazim while I was having dinner." Then the frown deepened because...what happened after? "I don't..." He remembers watching the wet-nurse with Tazim, remembers his child's laughter, and he remembers feeling dizzy and...

"The food. There was something wrong with the food." But everything after was an indistinct blur. Malik could feel a headache coming on and he brought his hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

That was when he noticed the bandages.

The night before came back to him, in only fragments and hazy recollections (a hand in his hair, warmth, a mouth on his and _blood_ ), but they came all the same.

They didn't make much sense, though and Malik thinks it might have been better if they did. He cannot deal with something if he didn't know what it _is_.

(Except he had a fairly good guess, because he remembers the loss of control and the fear and disgust.)

"Dai?"

Malik looked up, with his hand pressed to his mouth to the concerned face of Tazim's wet nurse. He couldn't imagine what he looked like right now, but he suspects it wasn't very reassuring.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, ordering his body to relax as he brought his hand back down and then balling it into a fist when it wouldn't stop _shaking._

"It is nothing."

He was trying for calm but he wasn't sure he succeeded when the face across from his pinches in anguish and guilt.

The woman ducked her head to the child in her arms and Malik suddenly remembered the blind panic that had over-taken him when he realized that Tazim hadn't been in the room. It made him lean over the brush his fingertips over his son's cheek and that, more than anything else, grounded him in the present.

"He was with you last night." The woman nodded and Malik could only feel relief. Though he was unsure what happened, exactly, he was glad all the same that Tazim hadn't been there.

"Abbas ordered me from the room." She said as she wordlessly slid Tazim from her arms into Malik's. The rest of the tension eased from his frame at the solid, warm weight of his son settled against his chest. And he realized with something that was only a parody of mirth (because, really, there was nothing fgunny about any of this) that it was her turn to ball her hands into fists, bunching in the frabic of her clothing.

Reading people is a skill that all good Assassins needed to learn and it was one that Malik had developed to a fine art. He could read the guilt in the set of her shoulders and even though he wasn't sure how much she knew or guessed, he knew, at the very least, that she probably wished she hadn't left.

He let the silence stretch between them, though not out of cruelty as he stared down at his son. Tazim furrowed his brow before opening his eyes, delighting at the sight of his father.

"Ba."

He said and reached up with both hands. Malik, obligingly, leaned down so his son could pat at his cheek and giggle. For a moment, it was enough to chase away the few memories he recalled from the evening before.

"It is good that you did." He murmured without pulling away, and from the corner of his eyes he saw the woman's head snap up, expression confused. Malik placed a quick kiss on Tazim's forehead, before straightening. He bounced the infant when he fussed at his father's retreat.

"In the future," he continued before she could get a word in edgewise, "as long as it is within reason, you must follow Abbas' orders." When he looked at her, it was not with the eyes of a man who had been grieving over the loss of a young man he had regarded as a son, or the eyes of a man spitting acid and swearing vengeance at the man who took almost everything good in his life and smashed it into tiny pieces at his feet calling it a necessity and calling it mercy.

It was with the calm, unyielding eyes of the Brotherhood's Second.

"Should anything happen to me in the future, I need to know that Tazim will end up with someone whom I trust and for that, You must not give Abbas reason to not trust you."

His words (orders, really) hung heavy in the air, contrasted with the bright sunlight filtering through the windows. After a moment, a hint of steel found their way into her eyes and she bowed her head in acceptance.

~ + ~

Later, after the wet nurse had left and Tazim had been put down for a nap, Malik made his way to the washing basin set out in the corner. He stripped out of his clothes, as best he could even if some of it inevitably slid along the links to the ground. He had half a mind to tear it up, but he would not get a fresh one until later in the day so, ever practical, he just left it be. He dipped the cloth on the edge of the basin in the water. He stopped short when he straightened and caught sight of a mouthed shaped bruise where neck met shoulder.

(He remembered a mouth there, remembered letting out a soft gasp when the spot was bitten. Then he moaned at the wet slide of tongue over skin and a sucking mouth. Remembered the way he leaned into the touch, the way he shivered when it alternated between biting and sucking--)

Malik's mouth tightened into a line and, tilting his head, he scrubbed at the spot harshly and didn’t stop until the skin in that spot was pink and raw as if he could scrub away the things crawling under his skin. He did the same to every inch of skin and tried not to think about how, besides the cuts on his palm  
and the mark on his neck, there were no other bruises.

Abbas had been nothing if not gentle, as if Malik were his lover instead of his prisoner. That remembrance made Malik's teeth clench and he scrubbed harder still, until he was absolutely sure there wasn't a trace of the man left.

The bruise on his neck could not be washed off, however, and if Malik were a less rational man, he would have seriously considered scratching it off.

It stood out on his skin starkly and Abbas' words from before came back to him.

_"I have every right because you are mine!"_

Like hell.

With a snarl, Malik stood up and threw the wash cloth down.

He went through the motions of redressing the wounds on his hand in fresh bandages, and himself in clothes. When he first lost his arm, even something to mundane, so simple as this was a challenge. Malik has had years to perfect doing all this one handed, so as he went through the motions there was still room left to think.

An assassin was always in control of his surroundings and Malik was, deep down, an assassin before all else and loss of control like what he experienced last night was unacceptable.

More than just the loss of control over his body, it was the way he lost control of his emotions and thoughts that disturbed Malik. The way he could not _think_ through the anger or fear, the way he'd been ready to slit his own throat left Malik deeply unsettled and he was determined not to allow it to happen ever again.

He suspected though, that if Abbas had any say in the matter, it would happen again.

The traitor had probably, Malik figured, run off to lick his wounds even if only metaphorically. It did not give Malik much time to come up with a solution.

Finishing up the last tie, he made his way back to where he'd left Tazim to nap and slid down beside his son, putting a protective hand on his back. His gaze and mind, though, were far away.

Refusing food was no long term solution...or even much of a short term one. It was clear now what Abbas wanted from him, Malik would not make it easier for him by weakening himself through starvation. Besides, if he were to die or to become weak, who would protect his son?

No, he decided as he looked down at Tazim again, refusing food was not the solution.

The situation was rather hopeless, really. Malik was without allies, there being only two people who were here regularly whom he can trust and one of them is an infant. The two guards outside his door were, no doubt, loyal only to Abbas and Malik couldn't hope to even start on this chain without alerting them. Lock picking was also not an option due to lacking tools and even more by the fact that he only had one arm and it was the one being shackled.

Abbas it seemed, held all the cards.

Except...

Malik furrowed his brows and stared at the ceiling, while absentmindedly stroking Tazim's back with his thumb.

He was fairly certain Abbas had left the room, though that part of the evening was especailly muddled and confusing, ending with what he was almost certain was Altair lying at his side.

Malik couldn't imagine he was in much of a position to fight Abbas off. There was only one explanation he could think of and, despite how prepostrous it was, it fit in neatly with everything else he suspects to be true.

It presented a new oppurtunity though Malik wasn't sure it was one he should take.

Had he been younger, there would be no question: he would not do it. His pride would not have allowed him to.

But losing his left arm and leading a bureau had taught Malik what it meant to be weak and, more importantly, what it means to be strong and how one could often be mistaken as the other.

There was glory in dying only if you have tried with every ounce of your being to survive and carve out the world you wish to see.

There was no glory in fighting the guards for their petty insults or bullying, but though it had chaffed, there was in walking away in order to ensure his anonymity, thus ensuring that of the Bureau.

And there was no point in continuing to goad Abbas as he has when he knew the most likely end result is him on his back and drugged out of his mind in order to fill a role in Abbas' twisted fantasy.

Not when there are other ways to fight.

"Nothing is true." He recited quietly, almost reverently, "And everything is permitted."

It was not an ideal situation but, as always, there is no disadvantage that cannot be turned into an advanatage. It was what Malik excelled at, after all.

~ + ~

Despite his resolution, he still had to take a moment to compose himself when Abbas came into the room later in the week.

Malik didn't bother to hide the way his shoulders tensed, but he did make sure not to physically attack the man...though from the way Abbas took a step back he might as well have.

He watched the way the traitor's eyes settled on his bandaged hand and the guilt there and he thought, _good._

Malik sneered, making sure to plant himself firmly between Tazim's crib and Abbas.

"Back again?"

Abbas hesitated, "It wasn't supposed to happen like that."

It was a weak defense at best, but Abbas offered it like it was a good one anyway and Malik did not need to pretend to be outrage as he stalked over, taking care not to trip over the chain on the floor.

"Was it not? Then enlighten me as to what was _supposed_ to have happened, Abbas? Did you expect me to allow you to have you way with me? That I would have enjoyed it enough that hence forth I will spread my legs for you like some common whore?"

He practically spat that last word into Abbas' face, that was how close they were and he saw Abbas' eyes widen and then narrow in anger as well.

"No!" And then he brought a hand up, to cup Malik's jaw and Malik allowed the touch even when he flinched, "I have never--you are no whore, Malik."

And Malik laughed, harsh and disbelieving, the sound made Abba's grip on his jaw tighten. Not even Altair at his worse had been this bad. At the very least, Malik was sure he'd never been delusional enough to think that something like _that_ could suffice as an apology.

"Then what am I?"

There is a desperate sort of hope in Abbas' face and Malik might have pitied the man if he did not want nothing more than to rip him to shreds.

"You can be everything you were, and more. Stand by my side, Malik."

Malik thinks back on when another man had asked him for something similar years ago. Except...no, not that similar at all.

When Altair asked, it had been earnest and Malik had known, looking into his Grandmaster's eyes that he could have refused and Altair would have allowed it (even if he needed Malik, Altair would not have taken his right to decide for himself).

He had never looked at Malik as if he were a _thing_ to be owned, had never asked with an unspoken, _"Be mine."_ rooted deep in his words, nor was there the demand that Malik gave more than his loyalty and companionship even if, back then, they had both been peripherally aware of something else between them.

No. The two could not be compared at all.

Still, Malik steeled himself like a man preparing to go to his execution, brushed the hand on his face away and leaned in to kiss Abbas.

There was a long moment where neither of them moved and Malik was dimly aware that he could not muster the energy or desire to do more than just press their lips together, and that that would give this gesture away for the farce that it was.

Then Abbas grabbed his face between his hands and Malik just allowed it to happen.

He grunted when he found himself pressed against the stone wall, but otherwise did not react until he felt Abbas slip a leg between his.

Malik counted to three in his head before pushing Abbas away.

"Stop." Then he said nothing else, just held Abbas at arm's length and kept his head down.

The best lies were the sort men told themselves. So Malik let Abbas stew on what just happened, allowed him to interpret the downward turn of his head however he wished.

For a man who _wanted_ as badly as Abbas wanted (everything), Malik didn't doubt that he will see exactly what he wanted to see (and what Malik wanted him to see).

"Not yet."

Abbas nodded and Malik didn't stop his hand from trailing from his cheek to where they both knew was a mouth shaped bruise under his robes.

"...of course." He said and Malik only barely contained the urge to elbow Abbas across the jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ancient aphrodisiacs were apparently more of a nutritional thing in that, if you were healthier you had more energy to get it up. Also, it was a sort of mind over matter thing...and when I read that I was like...that's not going to work. (Yes, I did research on aphro and hallucinogens for this.)
> 
> So I decided on hallucinogens instead. Besides, if anyone were to try this on Malik while he was completely lucid, they are liable to end up with some important part of their anatomy bitten off, I think...
> 
> Also, I see a lot of writing where rape/non-con is violent and painful and while violence is a part of it, at its heart its still a question of consent and I guess when I saw this prompt that was what I wanted to try to get across! And then the rest of the story sort of built itself around that, the whole idea that even if its gentle or out of love something can still be wrong and awful.


	3. Turning Tides

It did not become a regular thing between them.

Abbas is always the one to initiate, and Malik only allowed it often enough to keep up the illusion that he was even considering Abbas advances. He never allowed it to go too far, and it was out of spite more than out of modesty or any moral reason.

It was what Abbas wanted, to have both Malik's heart and body so he has resolved to deny him both. And, he couldn't be sure, but Malik thinks the fact that he holds back is one of the reasons why Abbas doesn't trust him enough to leave him unchained.

(As if his sleeping with Altair had anything to do with his loyalty. As if he wouldn't have gladly died for the man even if he hadn't been in love with him.)

Despite his warning to her, Tazim's wet-nurse sometimes brought news to him of those who were not swayed by Abbas' lies. Those who were not already dead, at any rate. There were precious few of them and it made Malik furious.

To think that so many of their numbers had fallen for Abbas' lies.

Still, when she brought him such news he told her to pass on only one message, _stay hidden and bide your time._

They were out-numbered, but that only meant they had to proceed with caution. Abbas had had the advantage of working from the shadows before, but now, sitting at the head of the Order, their positions were reversed.

It is easy to protect against an enemy that attacked head on, but it was difficult to defend against a knife from the back.

And they were all assassins, it was in their nature to sneak about, even more so after Altair became Grandmaster.

It was difficult to coordinate a coup when he couldn't leave the room, but it wasn't long before he sometimes had visitors come to his window when Abbas wasn't there.

They were, after all, assassins.

For the first time since Abbas had shown him Sef's severed head, the world made sense again and Malik had purpose. Eventually, things would come to ahead and Malik waited for the day when he could stop putting up with Abbas' advances and put an end to all this once and for all.

~ + ~

Abbas had been in an odd mood for a few days now.

At first, Malik hadn't known why, only that whatever it was had Abbas worried.

It wouldn't be until a couple of days after his realization that he receives a written message tucked under the mug of water that came with his lunch.

_The Eagle returns to Masyaf_

He stared at the slip of paper blankly for a moment, before disposing of it.

At some point, Malik had stopped waiting for Altair to come back even if he still didn't entertain the idea that he was dead. Thoughts like, "This would not have happened to Altair" or "Altair could make the men who follow Abbas see reason" were completely useless after all.

He scoffed. It was just like the novice to show up exactly when he wasn't wanted.

But knowledge of Altair's return made him feel lighter, and he chided himself for the thought.

Then he went to considering what Altair's returns means for them.

Abbas was no doubt doing the same which would explain his distance these past few days.

Eventually though, Abbas did come and when he did, Malik found himself pressed into the wall and kissed. As they slid to the ground, Malik noted that here was something desperate about it, as if Abbas had something to prove and it annoyed Malik that he couldn't figure out what at first.

When Abbas mouthed along his neck, Malik took a moment to stare out the window on the opposite wall. At some point, it became a habit to let his mind wander when this was happening. Sometimes, he thought about Altair or Maria. He thought about the curve of their smiles, about the simpler days when they'd sit in the library, talking about everything and nothing. He never thought about what it felt like, kissing Altair because the last time he tried, he was brought back to _that_ night and it ended with him throwing Abbas off him in a panic.

This time though, his attention was caught by something fluttering just out of sight outside.

Then Abbas was speaking into his ear, and Malik grit clenched his teeth at the words.

"Come warm my bed tonight, Malik."

It was not an order, though it felt like one, and Malik thought about any excuses he could give that won't undermine everything he'd been doing for months now.

His eyes were still fixed on the window, as if trying to catch sight of...what? Surely the edge of a white robe was only a trick of the eye. Everyone knows better than to risk coming in the evenings.

As if noticing his distraction, Abbas pulls back to look him in the face.

"Malik..."

"No."

And there was that anger again, one that Malik had not seen in a while. He had not rejected Abbas' advances so bluntly in a while either, but something makes Malik suspect that's not the only reason.

"Because of Altair?"

Malik only raised a brow and lied without missing a beat, "Because Tazim is ill and I refuse to leave his side."

That made Abbas pause and look over his shoulder where Tazim, now two, normally slept. Malik stamped down on the violent urge to snap the man's neck. For one, it is very difficult to do with only one hand and this one time Abbas' misplaced fatherly affections for Tazim could actually work in their favour...disgusting as Malik found it.

Malik managed to get his murderous urges under control by the time Abbas turned back to him, almost suspicious, "I haven't heard about that."

"You haven't been around to hear about it."

Abbas stared, as if trying to gauge Malik's sincerity and he knew he'd won when the traitor only leaned over to kiss him.

"I apologize for that. I will not be so neglectful in the future."

Malik was kissed a few more times before Abbas left, leaving Malik to straighten his robes, and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

He sat there and listened for the sound of Abbas' footsteps receding and waited.

When he was sure the man was gone he stood up.

"Well? Are you coming in or shall I write you an invitation?"

After a moment, there was a shape blocking the window. Altair entered first, followed by Maria. Both of them were older than when he last saw them, more weary and travel worn.

They were certainly a sight for sore eyes.

"Safety and peace." He greeted even as dread made his chest clench. As glad as he had been to see them, he can't help but remember all the reasons why he can't face them.

_I failed you. I let Abbas take control of the Order and I let him kill your son._

He pulled his shoulders back, as if bracing himself for...he wasn't even sure anymore. It was one thing to know Altair was returning, it was an entirely different matter to see him.

And he wasn't sure what Altair saw, but he strode forward and pulled Malik towards him and held him tightly.

"Safety and peace, brother." He said into Malik's ear (because he'd seen the way Malik looked when Abbas kissed him, as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was, because the way Malik looked at _him_ when he came in was enough to make him regret not coming back sooner.)

And Malik held onto Altair just as hard, as if he couldn't stand to let go and, damn him for being so weak, but he turned his head to press his nose against the side of Altair's hood, as if he wanted to burrow there.

He smelled quite awful. Like sweat and dust, but under all that was Altair's scent and Malik had missed it, missed him for _years_ , with the last two each feeling like a decade when the only company he'd had was Abbas.

It was like coming home and Malik only pulled back so he could crush his mouth against Altair's.

Altair grunted in surprise, having not expected it, but when he pulled Malik close...Malik flinched.

Before he could gather himself, Altair pulled back, and frowned at him in concern. Before he could ask, though, Malik made a frustrated sound and leaned in to press their mouths together again, this time in defiance.

("You do not own me!" He's wanted to spit at Abbas for a long time now, "even if you take my body or my life, still I will never belong to _you_.")

Altair allowed it, though this time he did not reach out to touch Malik and he was both grateful and angry about that.

When he pulled back, they were both out of breath and Malik had his hand fisted in a white knuckled grip in Altair's robes. Ever so slowly, he loosed his grip, before sliding his hand up and under Altair's hood and pushing it back.

There were so many things he wanted to say, but all of them were lodged uselessly in his throat and Altair didn't seem to be doing much better, hands hovering over Malik's waist, wanting to touch, but uncertain of his welcome, making Malik wonder what lies Abbas had told and how many of them Altair had believed.

It was fortunate for them, that Maria was there to break the ice.

"What happened, Malik?"

~ + ~

The telling was short, because there was no time to go into too much detail and Malik is nothing if not economic when it came to matters like this. Still, every word that came out of Malik's mouth felt like a dagger in his heart. He told them how Abbas had killed Sef and pinned the murder on him, of how he's been held captive here for two years, and of the changes that was already happening within Masyaf.

He tells them of Tazim, of the mother of his child.

(He smiles at Maria ruefully, "I had meant to introduce the two of you upon your return. You would have liked her.")

And it wasn't until now, when he allowed himself to think about it that he realized just how much he'd lost.

("It would not have happened to a stronger leader. It would not have happened to _you_.")

It hurt to recount, but he owes them the truth.

That wasn't to say he didn't leave anything out. There were some details, like _that_ night, that he left out. He could already see the guilt in Altair's face that bloomed along with the anger, this was a burden Malik refuses place on his shoulders.

He is not so foolish to think that they do not suspect, however, that there was something he wasn't telling them. But they trusted him enough to believe it was something that could be left to another time.

And wasn't that just strange, that they could trust a man who had failed them so completely...

~ + ~

They discuss what to do in hushed voices in order to not alter the guards as Altair works on Malik's shackle.

Malik suggested they go and rally the assassins still loyal to Altair. He could not make the climb down the tower, not after spending seven years as acting Mentor with very little reason to climb at all.

The suggestion was shot down vehemently, if quietly.

They would only leave him if they believed him safe and though Malik tells them that Abbas is unlikely to kill him they do not budge.

All of them knew only too well that there are things in this world worse than dying.

In the end, they outfit Maria with a sling so she could climb with Tazim safely. Then she kisses them both on the forehead and tells them solemnly to stay safe (stay alive) until she returns with help.

Then she's gone and there's only Altair and him left in the room.

They watch the window where she'd disappeared and silence hung between them. Then Altairs's hand closed over Malik's wrist, far more gently than anyone would expect from one whose life was so mired in violence.

His grip was loose and warm, different from the shackle that had held Malik here for two years. Malik could easily pull out of the hold, but couldn't imagine himself doing it.

Altair brushed a thumb over the scarred and bruised skin and something dark and dangerous climbed into his expression.

For a moment, it was like they were back in Jerusalem and Malik could see the young man Altair had been in the man standing in front of him.

It was as worrying as it was reassuring.

Then the hand was gone and Altair turned towards the door.

And it was only natural for Malik to follow him, as if they were connected by something stronger than links of iron.

~ + ~

The fight that ensued when they left the room was two-against-two, but when one of those twos were Malik and Altair there was really no contest.

Malik stripped one man of his weapons and clicked his tongue disapprovingly at the state of the man's sword.

"It is a wonder they survived this long with how little pride they put into maintaining their weapons." He gave the sword a practice swing. It was strange how the familiar the weight of weapons on his person was, how much more balanced it made him feel, "I hope they are the exception and not the norm." He added, but sounded like he expected the worst.

Altair smirked. Malik was not the only one who had missed the other during the last seven years.

"If not, you may re-educate them when this is all over."

And Malik scoffed.

Because, no matter what the odds, they would do their hardest to make it out alive.

Maria would never forgive them for doing anything less.

~ + ~

Abbas met them in a large room halfway through their escape.

They would have made it through quicker if they simply killed everyone on their way down, but these men, misguided though they were, were still brothers. So they only took lives when it was absolutely necessary.

It meant, however, that there were a few assassin's following them now. They were, however, clearly out numbered compared to those standing between them and Abbas.

Altair shifted his stance, putting himself firmly between Malik and Abbas.

"So you have betrayed me." No names were mentioned, but both Malik and Altair knew who it was directed towards.

Malik stepped around Altair to stand by his side. He spared a second to shoot a glare at Altair (because he was no damsel that needed protection and he would do well to remember that), before focusing it on Abbas.

"I told you before, that I will have your head one day."

"I thought you had seen reason." There was an edge to his voice and Abbas' glare focused on Altair. "But in the end, you chose him after all."

There was no need to deign that with an answer, not when everyone already knew what it was. Instead, Abbas raise his arm.

"Kill the traitors."

~ + ~

The worst thing was that Abbas did love the Order and Malik.

But he was selfish and he couldn't bear the thought of letting either of them _go_ , least of all to the likes of Altair, and if that meant he hated Altair more than he loved anything else then so be it.

And Abbbas wasn't merely selfish, but also deathly afraid of losing. 

So he held onto the things he loved, chained them down and squeezed like a child who thought if he just held onto the bird between his hands tightly enough that it will not fly away from him, that the bird will eventually become his to keep.

If he had been given the chance, he would have kept a choke-hold on the Order even if it meant abandoning the Creed and their mission. He would have drugged Malik until the man could no longer remember his own name let alone Altair's if it meant he would stay.

He would have held on until everything good in them had been squeezed out, until there was nothing left in his hands but a shell of what he once loved.

But what makes it unforgivable was, he wouldn't even know. He would have kept his hands closed, never once daring to open them in case the bird flies away, never realizing that the bird was already long dead.

(Destroyed like the reputation of his family that he had sought so hard to redeem and protect.)

And in the end, try as he might to pin the blame on circumstances or on Altair, there is only one person to blame for his actions and it was Abbas himself.

~ + ~

Malik could not, however, find room in him to pity the man, not after everything that had happened. Malik was not a cruel man by nature but he could not claim to be a particularly charitable one and there was little sympathy in him for a coward like Abbas. So it was with a detached sort of feeling that he watched Altair and Abbas speak as the latter lay on the stone floor, dying.

Once he determined that Abbas was no longer a threat he left to make sure there weren't any reinforcements coming, but mostly, to give them a moment, knowing that there was history between them that he was not privy to. And barked orders at the nearby assassins to go and do something useful instead of standing around and gawking.

It was why he missed it when Abbas' called his name weakly (or perhaps he merely ignored it).

He glanced down at the bodies on the floor as the still living assassins scattered and he sighed. They spared as many as they could, but a few, those foolish few who showed no hesitation who believed Abbas until the end, were now dead.

What a waste of life.

There is a scuff of boots on the floor behind him, a soft sound so that Malik wouldn't be surprised when Altair walked up to place a hand on his shoulder.

And, because there was no one else to see, Malik leaned against Altair's side. It surprised him, he could feel it in the way Altair tensed.

"Malik?"

When Malik tilted his head, he could not see Altair's face, but he could hear the worry in his voice anyway, and he was sure the novice was looking him over for injuries.

He rolled his eyes.

"I am fine, Altair." He said, exasperated if a little fond. They stayed like that for a heartbeat, a brief moment of respite stolen for themselves, before Malik straightened again and Altair lets go.

It was not over, after all. Not yet, and there will be time enough to rest when they had secured Masyaf once again.

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There had been another scene, set after everything else had settled down but in the end I didn't write it. It seemed fitting that since the story began with Abbas that it should end with his death.


End file.
